The Road to California
by Readingtoomuch
Summary: He doesn't know how long he's been in love with Quinn Fabray, he just knows that he can't remember a time when he wasn't.
1. Chapter 1

The Road to California

 **A/N: This was supposed to be a oneshot, but I had to break it up into chapters to upload it. If you have the time and the patience, I think it reads best in one sitting.**

Chapter One

Sam's mother told him that if he didn't straighten things up in his room, Quinn wouldn't be allowed to come over later. He knew the threat was empty; Quinn's mom and dad always went out for date night every other Thursday. They stayed out late, smoochin', Quinn said, so she always spent the night and went to school with him in the morning. With Stupid Stevie always crying and wailing and pooping his diapers, Sam's parents didn't get a date night, though he got to go to Quinn's house all the time during the day. Her parents were smart; you didn't see them having more babies.

When Quinn arrived, Sam was still cleaning his room, meaning that he was arranging his Star Wars action figures by the characters' organizational allegiance. This was a pretty complex chore – a novice might argue that you had the dark side and the light, but boy, would they be wrong. Some of Sam's action figures belonged to the Bounty Hunter's Guild, some to the Trade Federation, and a few even to various Hutt crime syndicates. Harder to decide were the Ewoks; they always gave Sam the most trouble, though he usually ended up assigning them to the Rebel Alliance's box, for better or worse.

His blonde best friend sighed when she walked into his room like she owned the place. Quinn tossed her purse on the floor and flopped down onto his bed, totally ignoring Sam. He'd never been able to figure out what an eight year old girl needed with a purse. His mom carried money and sometimes snacks in hers, but Quinn didn't have money, and if he ever said he was hungry, she never offered anything, not even animal crackers.

"My life is over," she moaned dramatically through the Spiderman pillow she was holding over her face.

She was still yapping, so Sam figured she wasn't dead yet. He finished organizing his figurines by placing Han Solo in last; he always saved Han for last. Another mournful sigh from the bed demanded a response. "What?" he finally asked. Girls could be so needy.

"My mom hates me!" Quinn wailed dramatically.

Sam didn't know anything about that; Mrs. Fabray seemed okay. What really concerned him was that Quinn might be getting spit on his pillow. "How come?"

That was all the opening she needed to lunge forward, filled with as close to righteous indignation as an eight year old could muster. "Santana's mom bought her a cell phone! I asked mom for one, too, and she said no! Can you believe that? No!"

If there were going to be any big purchases in the Evans house, Sam probably would have asked for the Lego Death Star. God, just the thought of all those pieces working in tandem to make the universe's ultimate weapon made his fingers twitch. But a phone? Who cares? His mom had a phone, and he could use it anytime he wanted.

"What do you want a phone for? Who would you call?"

Quinn looked annoyed. "Maybe I'd call you."

Sam snorted. "Like you ever listen to me, anyway."

"Shut up."

"See!"

The thing with girls was, they didn't like for you to call 'em out, even when you're right. Especially when you're right, Sam had found. The best thing to do was to just ignore them, let them cool down a little. So, he brought out his Legos.

Quinn quickly noticed.

"What're you doing?"

Without sparing her a glance, Sam explained. "I built that Star Destroyer set that you got me for my birthday last year, but then I dropped it like, a long time ago." He didn't remember how long. An hour was a long time for an eight year old. "So now I just make up stuff to build." Sam connected a grey piece to a larger blue component. "I think I'm gonna try to make a lair for the Green Goblin, something totally awesome and –"

Quinn just sighed. _Boys . . ._

XxXxX

They were supposed to be sleeping, and Sam would have been perfectly fine with that, but as usual, Quinn was still awake. She was jabbering about what Marcie Brown and Sarah Sanders were going to wear to the Christmas party their class was having next week. Twice already, his mom had walked by in the hallway and told them to quiet down and get to sleep, but his best friend just waited until the footsteps had faded in the hall before starting in again about clothes.

"And I told my mom that I needed the shirt with the Christmas tree on it, but she said that the shirt with the reindeer that I already have will be fine, but it's like she doesn't even care that all the other girls will be wearing shirts that have trees on them, and so she must hate me, and she wants everyone else to hate me, and sometimes –"

He missed most of that. Sometimes when he couldn't sleep, Sam stared at the glow in the dark stars that his dad had put on the ceiling. He pictured faraway galaxies, and all the different kinds of space denizens that lived there. There'd be slug people, of that he was sure, but also humanoids with two heads, and maybe hominids that had reptilian qualities. Someday, they'd come up with spaceships that you got when you were sixteen, instead of just a dumb old car, and he'd get one, and he'd fly to the stars.

"Are you even listening to me?" Quinn's shrill whisper interrupted his thoughts.

"What?"

"I was saying," she huffed, annoyed, "that if I don't have the right shirt, no one is going to want to sit with me at the Christmas party!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll sit with you." He always sat with her; they'd been in the same class since preschool, and he sat next to her every single time they got to pick seats.

"And what are you going to wear?"

Probably whatever his mom told him to. "I dunno. A t-shirt, I guess. I'll tell mom I want the one with the Tyrannosaurus Rex on it." That was without a doubt his coolest shirt.

"Wear something that will look good with my stupid reindeer shirt."

"What looks good with a reindeer?" Sam couldn't imagine, but then, he wasn't a girl. His mom was always talking about "matching." Sometimes she yelled at dad when he didn't put "matching" clothes on Stevie. Sam doubted that Stevie cared much – he'd poop in anything.

Evidently, Quinn was tired of talking about it. "When we trade presents at school, I bet I'll get something dumb." For their class Christmas party, all the boys would bring one gift for a boy, and all the girls would bring a gift for a girl. You drew a number to see which gift you got.

Sam sorta thought that all the girl gifts were dumb, but he knew better than to tell her that. "I hope I get the new Batmobile." This was unlikely, considering that parents weren't supposed to spend more than ten dollars on the gifts.

"I'll probably get more fake nails. How tacky."

Quinn was always saying things were tacky. Sam didn't know what that meant, either, but he guessed it was just anything that she didn't like. She never called him tacky, so he felt ok about that.

"What if Finn asks to sit by you?"

She flipped her head, her ponytail hitting him in the face, much to her pleasure, Sam knew. "He won't if I'm wearing that stupid shirt."

"Do you want him to?" Finn was Sam's best guy friend, but he'd rather Quinn stay over than Finn.

"Maybe."

"Would you make me move if he wanted my spot?" She'd been talking about Finn an awful lot lately, and he just wondered . . . It wasn't like it made any sense; Finn wasn't nearly as good as he was at video games, and if Quinn started jabbering like she did, he'd probably wander off, whereas Sam would at least pretend to listen, mostly.

"Of course not," Quinn answered, sounding somewhat offended. "He could sit on the other side."

That made him feel better. Sam knew he'd have to wear a cooler shirt than Finn's to the Christmas party. Quinn's weird, and she gets worked up over weird stuff, but she's also his best friend. Finn's his second best friend, but not like Quinn.

"Maybe I should wear a tie?" He'd never worn a tie before, but his dad had a bunch. When his dad wore ties, his mom always said that he was "very handsome." If Quinn cared so much about what they were wearing to the class Christmas party, she'd probably like it he wore a tie. He'd have to ask him mom to find one that matched his T-Rex shirt.

"Oh, that would be great!" Quinn clapped a hand over her mouth, obviously hoping that his mom wasn't on her way back down the hall to tell them to go to sleep. After deciding the coast was clear, she whispered, "We'll get to see how you'll look when we get married!"

This was new.

"Huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Duh, you'll be wearing a tie then, and now I'll know what you'll look like. On the day we get married," she clarified.

Sam knew almost nothing about marriage. He knew that all the married people he knew were super old, like his parents, and from TV he sorta thought that you were supposed to ask to get married. He didn't remember anyone asking him about that stuff.

"Um," he didn't want to sound dumb, but . . . "When are we getting married?" He had camp in the summer, and they were going back to Tennessee soon to visit his grandparents, so he wasn't sure when he was supposed to show up for this. He figured Quinn would be mad if he was late.

She brushed it off. "I dunno, when we're old. Probably eighteen or something."

Oh. Well, that didn't sound so bad. Eighteen was forever away, he couldn't even picture how long it would be be till he was eighteen. Might as well get married then, for all he knew. But it was still kinda funny, that she knew all about this and he didn't. Yeah, he knew Quinn was smarter than him, but still. "Why are we getting married?"

"Because it's what you're supposed to do. I like you," she said, and that made him happy to hear, because sometimes she could be bossy, "and you like me," which was true, "so we have to get married."

He had to admit the logic was sound, and now that he thought about it, Sam didn't have a problem marrying her, especially since it was forever away and his mom would probably still be there to take care of both of them. But there was something kinda bothering him.

"Do you like Finn?"

Quinn had an easy answer. "Yes, but I've known you longer, and we go to church together. I'll have to marry you."

"Oh, okay." She had the whole thing worked out so he didn't have to worry about it. Now that he thought about it, he'd gone to a wedding with his parents, and there'd been presents. Maybe he'd get the Lego Death Star. But'd he'd have to wait until he was eighteen.

His mother came in after that and told them that if they didn't quiet down she'd separate them and he'd have to sleep in Stevie's room. That would be the worst thing ever because that room smelled like diapers and Stevie cries all night, so Sam shut up and hoped Quinn would, too.

He'd ask his dad about a tie in the morning.

 _Ten Years Later_

If they leave soon, they'll probably make good time today, cover a lot of highway. But they won't, because Quinn hasn't even started getting ready yet. It's the same as yesterday, when she took like, forever, to do her makeup, and then she wanted to actually go inside a restaurant to have breakfast because no, she just couldn't eat the bananas he packed, and then she'd wanted to check her makeup again, even though he was driving so she could totally do that in the car. At this rate they are never going to make it to LA.

"Quinn, c'mon."

She's still in her bed, but awake, sitting up, looking at her phone. She's not happy. "God, I hate him," she said through clenched teeth.

Even though the motel room is technically half his, it's her stuff that's littering most surfaces and the floor. It looks like they've been there for a week already, instead of just lumbering in, exhausted from the road, at eleven last night. All this stuff needs to be packed before they can leave, meaning more delays.

Sam sits down on the edge of her bed. "Q, just ignore it."

She doesn't. Her thumb's going a hundred miles an hour, scrolling down her Facebook feed. "He's just such a, such a," she tosses the phone, but Sam's quick and manages to catch it before it hits the wall and shatters. "He's such a dick!"

He's not going to argue with that. He knew Finn Hudson was a dick back in third grade, back when the taller boy had gone to the teacher and asked to be Quinn's partner for the science fair, even though Sam had been her partner in everything for forever.

"Yeah, he is." You'd have to be a dick to break up with your girlfriend, via phone, the day before she was supposed to leave for a cross country trip to Los Angeles to interview at one of the most prestigious, most expensive, colleges in the country. A real dick, but again, Sam had known that for years.

"And he's putting pictures of his new whore all over Facebook."

Sam didn't actually think that Rachel Berry was that bad, but he's definitely not going to say that to Quinn right this minute.

"Everyone seeing those pictures knows he's being a douchebag," Sam tries. Finn breaking up with her like did was awful, but Sam knew she was most bothered by the public humiliation aspect. Everyone in their school had known about Quinn and Finn, McKinley's power couple. And now the guy is posting pictures of himself with another girl a day after ending things with Quinn? He's a fucker, or at least that's Sam's opinion.

"I really, really want to kill him."

"I know." And he does, because she's talked of little else for the past couple days. Finn was supposed to be on this trip instead of Sam. They'd planned on a road trip to LA instead of her just flying. It was supposed to be the capstone of their last year in high school, a celebration of a relationship lasting since freshman year. And then he'd dumped her less than twenty-four hours before they were supposed to leave. That's when Sam's phone had vibrated and he'd answered to hear her crying on the other line.

He climbs to the head of the bed and sits beside her, slinging his arm around her shoulder. "You're better than him, Quinn. You've got a great future on the horizon." But it's not going to mean anything if we miss that interview because you won't get out bed, he wants to say, but he doesn't. It's 2,230 miles from Lima to Los Angeles, and even though they left yesterday, they're not even through Indiana yet.

She leans into him, and he feels kinda bad for loving it. He also feels kinda bad for not feeling really bad that Finn dumped her, but that's another thing that he has no plans to bring up at present. "It's his loss and he's stupid, you know?"

Quinn sighs and put her hand over his. "It's just embarrassing. Everybody knows."

He lets her mope over her dickhead ex, but seriously, it's nearly ten in the morning. She'd asked him to get her to that interview, and he intends to do just that. When she finally gets in the shower he packs her stuff away, hoping to get on the road as soon as possible. His stomach flips a little when he finds condoms in her bag, open so he could put away some of her clothes. As awful as the thought of her using those with Finn is, at least he knows that particular scenario will never play out. Thank God.

When she finally comes out of the bathroom, dressed and ready, he can't help but smile. She's beautiful and the sight of her has made his chest ache for most of the last decade.

"Ready?"

XxXxX

He doesn't know how long he's been in love with Quinn Fabray, he just knows that he can't remember a time when he wasn't.

Their moms have pictures of them playing together as babies, pictures of toddler Quinn leading toddler Sam around by the hand. Their parents loved to joke about "Sammy's little girlfriend," until he turned six or so and discovered that girls were gross. But even when'd he'd been sure that having anything to do with girls would lead to the most debilitating case of cooties, his subconscious had made allowances for Quinn. They'd always been side by side. For a long time he hadn't really thought of her as a girl. But then one day he suddenly really did start thinking of her as a girl, in a big way.

She's asleep in the passenger seat right now, looking beautiful as usual. Her eyelashes rest so gracefully against her cheekbones, her lips just barely parted in easy sleep. Sam knows he's an idiot for thinking of her like she's a Renaissance painting, but he can't help it. It would be different if she'd ever given even the slightest indication that she might feel the same way. But she never has.

He reaches across the front seat and fixes her blanket with his free hand, not wanting her to get too cold under the car's vents. His life's story can be told in little snippets about the small considerate things he's done, things that she's never noticed.

Such is love.

XxXxX

He's never seen anyone look so out of place as Quinn does in this restaurant. They're in some no name town in central Iowa, and the options for dinner aren't that great. Driving around he'd found this dinner, and the place doesn't exactly look like it's got many Michelin stars. Most of the guys eating don't have sleeves, and more than one person has the Confederate flag emblazoned brightly on his shirt. Most of the women looked pretty similar to most of the men.

And then there's Quinn. Her hair's down across her shoulders, a golden cascade that glimmers in the fluorescent lighting. Her lips curve in the most perfect bow, and her eyebrows arch in the most alluring angle. And no offense to their fellow diners, good Americans all, Sam is sure, but Quinn's too beautiful to be here, and she kinda looks like she knows it. It makes him smile.

"What?"

She's put the menu down, evidently having decided between various fried meats and various fried vegetables. For himself, Sam's going with the fried chicken, so at least he can pull off the breading and hope their hotel tonight has an exercise room.

"Nothing," he answers, but her face shows that she's not going to let him get away. "You just look a little out of place is all."

He gets a smile so she obviously takes it as a compliment, but then she's scrolling through her phone and her face darkens. Sam can see she's on Instagram; he assumes Finn's posting again.

"Hey." He leans across and puts his hand over hers. "Don't give him another thought." When she starts to protest, Sam says, "You're on your way to Los Angeles, California, Quinn." He doesn't move his hand away from the screen. "You're going to ace that entrance interview and you're going to go to college at the University of Southern California. You're gonna live in freakin' LA, Quinn. Finn's small potatoes."

Her face is tilted down, towards the phone, but her eyes look up and find his. "You're right."

"Duh."

Their food arrives and it smells really good. This is the kind of stuff that he never allows himself to eat, the kind of stuff that his grandmother makes when they go back to Tennessee to visit. Sam's proud of himself when he follows through and pulls the fried skin, deliciously greasy, from the chicken before eating it.

"Do you think you'll come and visit me?"

A lot of the time Quinn's kinda facetious; they've been friends forever so they pick at each other a lot, but he doesn't hear that now.

"You mean in LA?"

She nods, not paying attention to the food she's poking with her fork.

"All the time! You're gonna be like, 'Sam, leave me alone, I've got to study," and I'll be like, 'No, I wanna go clubbing and whatever LA people do,' and I'll know what LA people do," he says, really happy with the way her smile looks really, really real, "because the hottest LA chick is my best friend, and I've known her forever, and there's never going to be a time when she's not my best friend." Sam squeezes her hand. "Right?"

She laughs really loudly, and neither of them care that pretty much everyone in the restaurant turns to look at them.

XxXxX

He was going to ask her out, like for real, in the ninth grade. Freshman year, new school, new opportunities, new girlfriend. That had been his plan. He'd waited for the right moment, planned it out, smothered his fears and reservations. He'd made reservations in fact, at Breadstix, and had his mom on standby to drive them. It was going to be a big deal; he'd bought a new shirt, an awesome pair of Chuck Taylors, and a promise ring. The promise ring was going to seal the deal. It symbolized his promise to be true, which wasn't hard for him because Quinn was the only person he'd ever, ever in his thirteen years of life, wanted. And she'd wear his ring on her finger and she'd feel proud to point down the hall and say, "that dude's my boyfriend."

But it never happened.

He'd been psyching himself up in front of the restroom mirror when Finn Hudson had walked in with a dopey grin on his face.

"Hey, man. What's up?"

"I just scored a date with Quinn!"

And Sam had spent the next hour in the nurse's office, ignoring the old lady as she listed off the symptoms of constipation, while he waited for his mom to pick him up.

XxXxX

"Have you ever had sex?"

They're driving through Nebraska and there's not much to see. There's a lot of grass, a lot of wheat, and a fair number of cows. Otherwise, there's not much to draw the eye. And the eye gets tired of grass, wheat, and cows pretty quickly.

"What the hell, Quinn?" She's always been really forward, as much as you can be forward with someone you've known all you life, but dude, who asks something like that?

"What?" She's been thumbing through a book of potential admissions interview questions, but evidently that's not riveting enough to keep her attention.

"You don't just ask someone about their sex life."

She perks up at that, an interested looking grin spreading across her face. She slides the book down between her legs to the floorboard. "So you have a sex life, do you?"

"It's not very ladylike to ask."

Quinn unbuckles her seatbelt to turn in her seat and face him. It's clear that she'd only asked to get a rise out him; the road is pretty boring. But now that he's hinted that maybe he actually has done the nasty?

"C'mon, tell me."

"I'm trying to concentrate on the road, thank you." Suddenly his hands feel really clammy. This is so _her,_ asking uncomfortable questions. Seriously, who does that?

"But you have had sex?"

"Why would you care?" It's not like they're dating of anything, despite what he's always wanted but always been afraid to ask for. Really, what if he told her he loved her and she didn't love him back? After something like that, you can't be friends, and then he wouldn't have anything.

"I care because you're my friend and I want to know." His arm has been resting on the center console. She finds it and intertwines her fingers with his. "Sam, tell me."

He knows Quinn, probably better than anyone knows her. He knows she can be like a little Chihuahua that's bitten into someone's ankle; she's not going to let go.

"Fine. I have." Case closed, surely.

She gasps. "No! With who?"

Her surprise is a little offensive. "Why are you so surprised that I've had sex?" Thanks to all that time in the gym, he's kind of a hot piece of ass, at least in his own opinion. Surely it's not farfetched that some girl would want to bang him.

Her eyes are still wide. "You're Sam. You're not supposed to just have sex and then not tell me about it."

"Huh, I must have missed that rule."

"Who'd you have sex with?"

"That's none of your business."

Maybe she reads something in his tone, because she doesn't press him this time. But she starts to pout. He hates it when she does that. It's not crying, because she's not a child who cries to get what she wants. The pout is worse. It's quiet, and she bites her lip, she looks down. She looks miserable.

He knows it's just an act, and he can't believe that he's going to tell her. "Santana. Happy?"

And the pout disappears. Her eyes are wide again. "Santana Lopez?"

"How many Santanas do we know?"

She ignores that. "When? Where?"

Sam concentrates on passing the truck in front of them, giving him a few seconds more to decide if he really wants to tell her the details. He doesn't, but figures he can't back down now.

"At Puck's party a couple months ago. She pulled me into the hall closet."

" _You_ had sex in a closet?"

Her tone, like she was just learning he's a totally different person, kinda amuses him. "I didn't stutter." When she doesn't say anything else Sam adds, "She yanked me in there. When it was over she said something about a bucket list and crossing me off. I dunno what the whole thing was about."

"Wow." Quinn picks up her interview book from the floor. "I just expected you to say you were a virgin."

He doesn't know why he tells her more, but Sam says, "I've only done it the one time." He probably wouldn't even have done it once, not with any one other than Quinn. But that would sound creepy if he said it aloud.

He doesn't go mono a mono and turn her question back on her. The last thing he wants to hear about is her having sex with Finn. But he doesn't have to ask.

"I've never done it," she says, her eyes locked to the book back in her lap.

He should probably pull the car over, the way his heart's beating. He knows Quinn, and he knows when she's lying and when she's telling the truth. He'd always figured, dreaded really, that she and Finn had sex. They'd been dating all through high school. The thought had made him sick more than once.

He reaches over and takes her hand, as she'd taken his before, though he isn't trying to tease out salacious information. "That's not a bad thing. You should only do it with the right person, someone you love, you know?" The heavy moment seems to be over when she smirks at his little speech, but he's not done yet; she's always inspired him to be protective, and he's just received some pretty good news. "It's about respect."

"Thanks, _dad_ ," she says, laughing at him before looking back out the window, a smile still on her lips.

He doesn't care. He's just learned that she never let Finn touch her. He's marking this down as a good day.

"I can't believe you let Santana boink you."

"Shut up."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Don't you want something better for yourself than Lima Community College?"

They're waiting for a table at some random Applebee's on the interstate. Sam is happily solving the maze on the children's menu that some kid had left behind when Quinn starts quizzing him. It seems like she's quizzing him a lot these days.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Brittany's going to MIT, Tina's going to Brown, I think I've got a decent shot at USC. You didn't even apply anywhere other than Lima. How come?"

He finishes the maze with a green Crayola. "You know I couldn't get into places like those. You saw my SATs."

"That's not the only thing the really good schools care about. They're looking for interesting people."

"You think I'm interesting?"

"Moderately." Quinn pushes herself closer to him to make room for a family of four in the cramped waiting area. "I think I know why you only applied to one place, so close to home."

Sam slides his arm around her waist to let her pull closer; space on this faux leather bench is at a premium, and there's a toddler with a snotty nose on her other side. "Enlighten me."

"I don't think," she says, tapping her fingertips against his knee, "that you even care about going to college."

She's not wrong. He's going to college because you're supposed to go to college. There's not some burning passion in him calling him to Lima Community. It's just cheap.

"Well, if I don't go to college because I don't care, what should I do, then?"

She's never had any trouble telling him what to do. "You should be a model."

"A model?"

"It's all you talked about when we were little."

God, he hasn't thought about that in so long. One day his dad had taken him aside and said that being a model wasn't a real job for a man and he needed to decide what he really wanted to do with his life.

"Quinn, I can't actually be a model. You can't really do that for a job."

"What are you even talking about? Do you know how much Gisele Bündchen makes?"

"No."

"A lot. And besides, Sam, you're gorgeous. You've got the face, the abs. Go, be a model, if that's what you want to do."

That's an interesting turn in the conversation, one that he likes to hear but is in no way ready to comment on. She thinks he's hot. He puffs out his chest a little; maybe she'll catch his good angles. "How do you even know I still want that?"

"I don't. But you had all those magazines when we were little. I remember that you wanted your junk to be as big as a car, on the side of a bus or something. You could do it now."

The hostess calls them just then, so he doesn't have to talk about uncomfortable subjects like the future or his junk. But when Quinn goes to the restroom he Googles modeling in LA, because why not?

XxXxX

This motel is not the nicest, but it's the only one in a town that consists of a post office, a barber, two churches, and a fast food restaurant that neither of them recognize, so they can't be too choosy. Sam hands the guy behind the desk the credit card Quinn's dad had given him, and then it occurs to the clerk to mention that they're out of rooms with two beds, and only have singles. So, he's going to be sleeping on the floor, which is just great.

Quinn rolls her eyes when he starts to spread a blanket on the floor. "What're you doing?" She pats the space on the bed next to her. "C'mon, don't be a dummy."

He shrugs, because what are you supposed to say when the girl you've been in love with for most of your life invites you to share her bed? "I didn't want it to be weird or whatever."

"We used to do this all the time, remember?"

He did. Quinn would spend the night at his house when her parents went on dates. They'd sleep in his race car bed and his mom would get mad because they stayed up late talking. They'd been around ten years old when she'd said that Quinn ought to start sleeping in Stacey's room. At the time he hadn't understood what his mom was talking about. She'd said that boys and girls should have their own beds when they got a little older. He gets it now.

"You trust me, then?" he says with a smirk. He trusts himself because by this point he's an old pro at holding himself back.

She snorts, and yeah, he doesn't really appreciate that she just laughed at the idea that he would ever make a move. He probably shouldn't fault her for that assumption, based on the last ten years of him not making said move.

"You've only been my best friend since we were practically babies." Quinn pushes herself against him and wrapped her arms around his middle. She's extremely warm and he can feel her boobs pressing into his front. "Of course I trust you."

He sighs, because this situation is the purest, most obvious example he can imagine of the friendzone. Guy's secretly in love with girl, girl thinks so little of the possibility of them ever being together that she actually sleeps with him and assumes it means nothing. But awful as it is, he does get to spend the night holding her, with her head against his chest, her hair tickling his neck, her legs against his. So, it's actually the best night he's ever had. It's not even pathetic. Not really.

XxXxX

When he wakes up the next morning the first thing he sees is Quinn staring at the tent in his underwear. There are actually a couple scenarios wherein this wouldn't be embarrassing. Like, if they were dating and had spent the previous night engaged in glorious, passionate lovemaking, it might be pretty cool to show that yeah, he was ready to go again. But considering they're not dating, and considering that she has no idea he's in love with her, there isn't a good way to spin this.

Sam shoots up and pulls his knees to his chest.

"I take it as a compliment," Quinn says nonchalantly, a grin curving her lips.

Sam glares at her. "The world doesn't revolve around you, you know." His world does, but not the earth in general. "We had health class together so you should know that I can't help it. It's like a blood flow thing."

"Yeah, I can see where it all flowed to," she says with a mean smirk.

He grabs a pillow to hold over his crotch before standing up. "I'm going to take a shower."

"You better make it a cold one."

He gives her the finger on his way to the bathroom.

XxXxX

Very pointedly, at least in Sam's case, there is no further comment about the previous morning's incident. He wonders if for once Quinn has decided to throw him a bone, because she doesn't bring it up. The glances towards his groin are probably his imagination at work.

When she and Finn had originally worked out the itinerary for this trip, they'd built in several stops, touristy places, mostly. Presently, they're on the side of a mountain in Colorado. The air is brisk but not too cold, and they're far from the only people walking around. Quinn's in a darker mood thanks to Finn's continued social media presence. Evidently he and Rachel are really hitting it off.

"You're the smart one for not dating," she says as they walk up a shaded path. "It's more trouble than it's worth."

Sometimes Sam wonders. But surely dating isn't as frustrating as pining from afar. "What do you mean? I date."

"You never date."

"I date a normal amount, thank you."

She rolls her eyes and slips her arm through his. "In your senior year of high school, what's supposed to be one of the best periods of your life, you've been on three dates, and I've set you up on each one."

She has, not that he'd asked her to. They were nice girls, sure, but it'd only taken one date each to know that they weren't what he was looking for. And evidently she doesn't want to count his closet interlude with Santana in her tally.

"Well, excuse me for not falling into line."

"I just want you to be happy."

She could easily ensure that, but he's not going to pressure her. He's been waiting most of his life for her to realize that she loves him, and then he'll admit his own feelings. It's a fairy tale that he's cultivated for a long time.

"I am happy."

"Hmm," is all he gets from her.

But then, as the climb gets a little steeper, "Describe the perfect girl for you, the one girl you'd date, and then keep dating." He's a little ahead and turns back to offer his hand as they climb upwards.

Sam decides to humor her, but intends to keep his answers measured. "Well, she'd have to be smart, because we can't both be dumb."

"I know you're joking, but you're not dumb, Sam."

He kicks a small branch out of their way. "I'd want her to be pretty, of course."

"Like how?"

Blonde, with beautiful green eyes, a perfect nose, and soft lips that arch just perfectly into the most alluring grin. But that description's too specific to one person. "I don't really have a type. Just pretty."

"And I guess she'll have to love _Avatar_ and _Star Wars_?"

"No," he laughs. She's sat through most of his favorite movies more than once. "But she does need to appreciate their cinematic excellence. Oh, and if she doesn't believe that there's life out there then I don't have time for her."

"That's oddly specific." Quinn let him help her down a steep drop in the terrain, his hands on her hips. "Anything else?"

"Hmm, I guess she needs to be kind, but I don't want a push over. I think I'd like a lady who's spicy, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess that's why you let Santana pull you into that closet."

"I'm going to leave you up here for the bears to eat."

They don't see any bears, but when Sam starts to notice that her breathing's a little labored, he suggests they take a break. It's a long way up, and he's feeling the burn himself. He uses his foot to clear a little place on the ground.

"What about you?" He unzips his bag and pulls out their water. "Perfect guy?"

Quinn tilts the bottle to her lips. "I think I need to take a break from guys."

On the one hand, that's not so bad, because it means she won't be dating anyone else. But it means she won't be dating him, either. "No fair. You made me tell." He flicks a bug from her shoulder. "Like, hypothetically."

She sighs, and at first he thinks she's not going to answer, but then she says, "He'd have to know that I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." She passes him the water. "But he'd still have to _want_ to take care of me, to make everything better."

That's encouraging, because he's wanted to take care of her since she scraped her knee in first grade. He'd been first on the scene with a _Toy Story_ bandaid, courtesy of the box his mom kept in his backpack for emergencies.

"Wow. That's deep. I just thought you'd want a hottie."

"Well, that goes without saying."

XxXxX

To everyone else, Quinn Fabray is the head cheerleader, the prom queen, the girl who walks down the hall with her head held high and has no time for the peons scurrying to get out of her way. Her ponytail flips through the air with imperious authority, the pleats of her Cheerios skirt sashay around her hips as she walks down the halls she owns, and everyone knows that Quinn Fabray is the freakin' queen of high school.

Sam's the only person who sees the other side. She'd dated Finn Hudson since freshman year and the guy had no clue. He never saw her cry. But Sam knows that she's just like any other kid, and hates it when her parents fight. She calls him to pick her up and they walk around the mall or the park until her parents have had it out. He knows that she actually hates being a cheerleader, would much rather spend her time singing with the glee club. They sing Disney songs together in his car on the way to school. He knows that despite the strong front, she's actually deeply vulnerable, and that sometimes it exhausts her to keep it together all the time.

He's kind of made it his life's work to take care of her. He knows she can make it on her own, but she shouldn't have to. He wants to be there on those rare occasions when the weight of being Quinn Fabray becomes too much. Moments like those when she curls into his side or sits on his couch with her legs across his lap, when she lets go and honestly tells him what's bothering her, made it bearable for him to watch Finn put his arm around her waist in the hallway, or kiss her after the last bell rings. Sam's just her friend, but she lets him know her, know who she really is. Finn never had that.

XxXxX

They're on a deserted highway somewhere in the middle of Utah when the car stops. This is a problem because Sam hadn't put his foot on the break; the car made up its own mind just a few seconds after they both heard an extremely unsettling rattling sound from underneath the hood.

Quinn gets out to join Sam where he's positioned himself under the hood.

"Well, what do you think?"

He wipes his hands on his jeans; he's seen mechanics in movies do that. "Yeah, based on my expert opinion of what I see here, I definitely think something's not working like it ought to."

"That's extremely astute." She starts scrolling through her phone, looking for the AAA number her father had given her before they left Lima. When Quinn hung up she didn't look pleased. "They said it could be an hour before they can get someone out here."

It's already dark, and irrespective of how sweltering the day had been under the harsh light of the sun, it's now cold and getting colder. The car won't start at all, so there's no heat.

"Alright," Sam says, closing the hood. "Let's get back in. I know there are some blankets in the trunk." He holds the door to the backseat open for her. "This is all part of the adventure, right?"

She huddles up against him in the backseat, the two blankets over them. "If I'm going to freeze to death," she says, her forehead pressed to his chest, "I'm glad it's with you."

"We've only been without heat for ten minutes," Sam grins into the dark. She fits perfectly into him, his chin against the top of her head. He's got his arms around her and doesn't much care if the car ever starts again. "But thank you, that's very sweet."

There's not another car in sight, and Sam can't remember how far away the next town's supposed to be. The sky is inky black, punctuated by the stars. It makes him think of his bedroom back home, with the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.

"Do you remember when we were in third grade and I had that sleepover in my backyard?"

"Yeah, that was fun." Her mom and dad had strung little Christmas lights along the privacy fence in the yard, so that they hadn't been in total darkness. His sleeping bag had been right next to Quinn's. Kurt, Brittany, and Puck had been there, too, but Sam didn't remember where they'd put their bags.

"It was fun, but stupid Puck kept trying to scare everyone."

To the best of Sam's recollection, he'd succeed in Quinn's case.

"I got in your sleeping bag."

He remembers it well. They'd been tiny then, so it'd been an easy fit for both of them. She'd wrapped her arms around his middle, much as she was doing right now, and whispered to him that she was worried about werewolves, the subject of Puck's story.

"I remember what you said to me, back then when I was scared."

He hasn't forgotten, either.

"You said that I didn't have to worry about anything because you would always take care of me."

"I meant it, too." He kisses the top of her head, lips against soft blonde hair, unsure if she can feel it. It's probably better if she doesn't. Less complicated, anyway.

She's quiet for a few minutes but then says, "I feel bad."

"Why?"

"Because it seems like our friendship's really one-sided." His shirt's open at the collar and he can feel her breath against his chest. "You made me feel safe during that sleepover, you just agreed to go on a cross-country trip when I needed someone. I don't pull my weight."

"Quinn, that's not true at all." He stretches out his legs across the backseat. Against the cool air she's more or less pulled herself into his lap. "Don't you remember when Ms. Thurber made me read aloud in class? And then Dave made fun of me because of my dyslexia."

"I didn't do anything special."

"Q, you waited till recess and then pushed him down and sat on his head." The memory made him smile. The principal called in her parents and she had to miss recess for a week. He'd had to play with Finn and Mike, and Sam distinctly recalled that it had sucked.

"Karofsky deserved it. He was a dick back then, too."

"And then when my Nanna died two years ago, you stayed at the hospital with my family. You were there all the time, for like, three days in a row." After the moment had finally arrived, Quinn had led him by the hand to a small waiting area down an offshoot hallway. It had been empty and she'd let him cry, his head against her chest. She'd run her fingers through his hair, and hadn't tried to pander to him like the adults had, hadn't tried to lie and say everything would be alright.

"Your Nanna was always really nice to me." Nanna had asked about Quinn every time she'd seen her grandson, and asked why he wasn't dating her. Quinn didn't know that.

"And you always commission my macaroni art when you need to give someone a present. No one else appreciates my pasta portraits."

"It's a very unique artistic medium."

"And last month, when I thought my goatee looked awesome, but you set me straight to save me from further embarrassment and social stigma." She'd arrived at his house with a razor and can of shaving gel, ready to act unilaterally if he refused to come to his senses.

"There's no such thing as a flattering goatee." Quinn pushes herself away a little to sit up next to him. "Alright, fine, maybe I'm not the most horrible friend. But, if I get in at USC, I'm going to have to make new friends," she says, voice distant and eyes downwards toward her lap.

"You will get in, that's not a question." This time he doesn't care if she knows; he leans over and kisses her cheek. "And you'll have to make _additional_ friends, because you'll already have me. You'll always have me."

He's almost disappointed when the mechanic arrives.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The interview's in the morning, and Sam thinks that he's probably more nervous than Quinn. He really wants her to ace this thing, to have all the good things in life. Yes, it means that she'll live over two thousand miles away from him, and that's horrible, it actually makes his stomach hurt; he's had a dull ache since she told him that she'd been invited to interview. But he wants this for her. She's so much better than Lima, Ohio. She deserves this.

"Will you get the Tylenol from my bag?" she asks from her bed.

"What's wrong?" He wonders if she knows the pill bottle is in the same pocket as the box of condoms she'd originally brought for her trip with Finn. He wonders if she knows that by asking him to look for the Tylenol, she's forcing him to notice the box. Probably not. Quinn Fabray is a lot of things, but she's not subtle. If she wants something to happen, it generally happens with a bang. If she wants him to notice the rubbers, she'll throw them at his head. That's her style.

"I've had a headache all day. I fell asleep in the car and my neck's killing me."

He fills one of the motel's flimsy paper cups with water from the tap and passes it to her with two of the little tablets. "I could give you a massage if you want." For his own sanity he shouldn't be offering to touch her so intimately, but he doesn't like to see her in discomfort. He's a freakin' white knight who can't act in his own best interest.

Her eyebrow arches up. "You know how to do that?" She chases the pills with water. "I don't want to end up paralyzed."

Sam shrugs. "Coach Beiste made everyone on the football team take a class. She said it was cheaper than hiring a physical therapist for the team."

"That sounds perfectly legal," she says with an eye roll, but she flips to lie on her stomach, face in a pillow. "Have at me."

He's only been waiting to hear her say that for forever. Wrong context, sadly.

Sam sits to her side on his knees, hovering over her back. He starts in, pressing his thumbs into her shoulders. Her skin is very warm. "Um, I don't mean to sound weird or whatever, but the guys on the team, well, it works better if we don't have shirts on." The fabric drags, which is true. He is definitely not a pervert.

There's a little laugh from the pillow. "You're so rigid." She sits up and pulls her blouse off. "If you're going to be such a prude, turn around for a second."

She's already working on the bra clasp when Sam forces his mouth closed and turns to face the wall. When he looks back she's flat on her front again, her back bare under a curtain of golden hair. He hopes she doesn't feel him quiver.

"You're actually really good at this," she mumbles after he's been kneading his fingers into her back for several minutes.

"And why are you so surprised?"

"I dunno," Quinn sighs as he presses the heel of his hand down, copying some of what he learned in class. "I shouldn't be. You've always been really gentle."

"I kinda prefer manly and gruff." He swings a knee over so that he's above her butt. It's not lost on him how close they are.

"You're the sweet kind of manly."

"I guess I can stand that."

"Hmm, do that again." Her body shudders under his hands.

"Do what again?" The room's so warm to Sam, warmer all the time with her under him. He doesn't think she can feel his hard on. Actually, he knows she can't because if she did, she'd say something to embarrass him.

"That."

He's lower on her back, pushing and rubbing, then following her spine to her shoulders. This is a lot better than massaging Puck.

It's a surprise to him when he says he's finished and she just rolls over.

"Quinn!" He jumps off of her.

"What?" She's reaching for the shirt she'd earlier laid out to sleep in.

"You're, you're pretty much naked. Give me some warning and I'll turn around." Like seriously. He wants to see them, but he doesn't like the idea of her seeing his reaction to seeing them.

"Good grief, Sam, they're just boobs." She gets the shirt over her head. "We used to take baths together."

"We were toddlers. You didn't even have boobs back then."

"I guess you're right, we've grown up since then. I hope your penis isn't still an inch long."

He glares at her; he's not going there. And it's not, for the record.

She looks down at her barely covered chest, a mischievous grin on her face. "You think they're hot?"

He pointedly rolls his eyes, because there's no way he's answering that. "What I think is that you just like seeing how far you can push people."

"Not people. Just you."

He's suspected that for a while now.

She notices the bulge in his pants. "Are you attracted to me, Sam Evans?"

He's never actually lied to her before. She's never asked him if he's in love with her, so he's never had to lie about it.

"You're not ugly." He wants to answer her more fully, more completely than that. But he won't. She's got the most important interview of her life tomorrow, and he's not going to say something that'll mess with her head just hours before she has to impress a stranger with her wit and intelligence.

But clearly Quinn's not thinking about tomorrow.

"Boy, with lines like that, you could talk the pants off of any woman."

"Even you?"

"You'll have to try a little harder."

"Do you think I'd want to?"

"I don't know, would you?"

Somehow they've moved closer together, without either person realizing it. Sam doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He can see her nipples through the thin shirt, and that's probably affecting his synapses firing properly.

"Yes." God, what?

Quinn doesn't miss a beat. "Kiss me, then."

They're both on the bed, standing on their knees, facing one another. It probably looks weird. "Just kiss you, just like that?"

"Just like that." She puts her hand on his chest. "It's not hard, Sam, unlike your dick." Her eyes point down to his groin.

"Fine." He leans in and kisses her. Just like that.

XxXxX

He wakes up first. They're naked and she's practically on top of him, her face pressed into his neck, her leg bent over his middle. It's not particularly comfortable for him, his arm's asleep and his back's kinda sore, but this isn't the first time he's gone out of his way for Quinn Fabray.

Sam's able to reach his free arm out and snag her phone from the bedside table without waking her. He knows her passcode because she always uses the name of the cat she had when she was in third grade. He's got to get her to change that before she goes off to college and someone takes advantage of her. But maybe it doesn't matter because who will know her as well as he does and be able to figure it out? Sam turns off her alarm because he doesn't want her to be woken up by a glaring siren on the morning after they've been together for the first time.

The first time. Does that mean there'll be a second? He doesn't know. Now's not the time to decipher what the hell last night meant.

"Quinn?" He skates his hand over her back, kisses her forehead. Her interview is in two hours, but she's still got to get ready, and then they've got to find parking at the university and locate the right building.

She, he doesn't know, purrs? Not like a cat, but like an incredibly sexy woman who doesn't want to leave the bed where they made love. Or at least that's Sam's interpretation. He walks his fingers up her spine, immensely pleased with the way she pulls closer to him, the way she curls her leg around him.

"C'mon, Q." Now he's got his hands on her sides, now on her slim hips. He can use his fingers to draw concentric circles on the small of her back. "Time to get up." It's not like he wants to. In a perfect world he'd hold her here, breathe in the smell of her hair, and then they'd perfect what they learned to do last night. But responsibility calls, and he's made himself responsible for her.

Finally, under the tickling of his fingertips, she starts to pull away. Half of her face is red from being pressed to his chest. She's never been much of a morning person. She looks bleary and groggy, and he would laugh at her hair right now but he knows she'd get mad and probably hit him.

"Good morning."

Quinn pushes back and lowers herself onto her side of the bed, rubbing at her eyes as she sinks into her pillow.

At this point he would have appreciated something like, "Wow," or, "last night was amazing." "I love you," is probably too much to hope for, but a simple "good morning," would go a long way. He wishes she'd just say something.

And when she does speak, she doesn't disappoint. "Last night was really nice." She squeezes his hand. It's a simple gesture, but he likes it a lot.

He doesn't know what to say. "Um, thank you."

Quinn laughs, at him, Sam guesses, but he doesn't care. "I guess I need to get dressed."

"It'll probably help your chances in the interview."

She leans in and kisses his lips, quickly, a giggle in her voice. He has to fight to keep his hands off of her. Quinn gets out of bed and walks to the bathroom. She's still not wearing anything. "Don't look at my butt," she calls without looking back.

"I'm not." It's a lie.

XxXxX

They find the building and he pulls her aside. "You've got this."

"Do you really think I'll impress them enough to get in?"

"Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?" He takes her hand. "You're gonna rock this thing. Remember to say "whom" a lot. It makes you sound smart. And if they offer you anything to drink, hold it with your pinky out."

She smiles that smile that melts his heart and puts her hand to his face. "Thank you, Sam."

"For what?"

"For being you."

"Don't know how to be anybody else." He leans down and kisses her cheek. "Go kill it."

XxXxX

He wants to buy her something from the university bookstore, something that says, "You aced your interview and thank you for having sex with me." It's hard to find an item that says both. There're a lot of different shot glasses with the university logo, but they just don't seem to convey the message he's trying to get across.

And there's the problem. It would be wonderful if buying her some gift could just cover everything they need to say. They had sex last night. Like, hot, wet sex. And they didn't talk about it this morning because this interview was coming up, but yeah, he figures they've got to talk about it. What if she just thinks it was a friends with benefits thing? What if he tells her how he feels and she laughs it off? He's been her best friend for forever, what if she doesn't want him to be anything else? You'd think that making the beast with two backs would clear everything up, but things are murkier than ever.

Sam settles for an egregiously overpriced teddybear wearing a USC t-shirt. He finds a bench in front of the building where he left her. How long do these things take? Surely the interviewer took one look at her and knew instantly that the school had to have her? Sam wonders if that kind of thing only happens to him.

XxXxX

"So, you feel pretty good about it?"

They're walking through the campus, sharing an ice cream cone. She can never eat a whole one by herself and there's not a chance in hell that he will when his free weights are two thousand miles away in Lima. He could have bought two cones back in Ohio for what this one cost. Buying the ice cream himself, instead of using her dad's card, is part of his subtle, and recently developed, plan to solidify their new relationship. Boyfriends buy stuff for their girlfriends.

"Fairly. The questions weren't too difficult."

"I bet they'll wait till tomorrow to call you, just so it seems like they deliberated a lot, but then they'll be like, "Quinn Fabray, we want you to start immediately,"" he said in his James Earl Jones voice. "They'll say, "In fact, you did so well, we're just gonna give you the degree right now.""

"Oh, is that what they'll say?" She reaches and gets ice cream from the side of his mouth with a napkin.

"Yup, I have a sense for these things."

It's a beautiful campus, and classes are in session at the moment so there aren't huge crowds of students trying to get to the next building before the professors start lecturing. Sam can easily picture her here, maybe sitting under that tree, reading one of her textbooks in the shade. It makes for a pretty picture.

They walk a little further before she loops her arm through his and leads them to a bench. "Don't you think we should talk about it?" Quinn says after they've been sitting for a few minutes.

Sam doesn't have to ask what she means. "I didn't want you to be distracted before your interview."

"It's finished now." The thing that brought them across the country, that led him to her bed, is accomplished.

"Yep." He's looking intently at his shoes.

When he doesn't volunteer any further insights Quinn says, "I think you should start."

"Why do I have to start?" This conversation is only going to change the course his life's been on for the last eighteen years; no big deal. Whatever.

"You're the guy. If we were dancing, you'd be leading."

"We're not dancing." But he always gives her what she wants anyway, so he might as well get on with it. "Ok, fine, I'll just say what's on my mind."

She looks at him expectantly.

But it's hard. It's hard to just come out and say what he's wanted to say for so long.

"Sam?"

Her eyes are beautiful. He's always loved her eyes. Sam takes a deep breath; he can do this if he concentrates on her eyes. There's nothing else, just her eyes.

"I love you." She doesn't recoil, so that's good. He doesn't want to lose momentum so he presses on. "I love you, Quinn, and not in, like, a brotherly, "give you a hot massage and then bone you" kind of way. Though that did happen last night, except for the brother part." He catches his breath. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm in love with you."

She's biting her lip and doesn't say anything, so he takes that to mean she wants him to say more. He can probably do that; he's only been holding all this in for years.

"Last night, I didn't mean for that to happen, and it probably shouldn't have, but I'm not sorry it did."

"Why shouldn't it have happened?"

"I mean, I." He doesn't know. "I just, it was like spur of the moment, we didn't get to talk about it or anything. I took your virginity, you know?"

She rolls her eyes. "Virginity's a social construct, Sam."

He can't believe it, but in this conversation about love and sex and his feelings, he bursts out laughing. "God, you've been on this campus for a day, and you're already a west coast liberal." Sam squeezes her hand. "Your parents are going to flip when you come home for Christmas with a nose ring and a bong."

She's not amused. "You're deflecting, Samuel. And you didn't _take_ my virginity. I can make my own decisions. "

Right, he is deflecting. He's just got to power through. "But I'm more experienced than you. Maybe we should have taken it a little more slowly. Maybe I took advantage of you or something."

"More experienced? Sam, your experience is exclusive to humping Santana in a hall closet. You're not some kind of a love god."

Well, that stings a little. "Fine, why don't you talk for a minute since obviously everything I say is either wrong or dumb?"

"Alright." She smooths her dress against her legs. "I don't regret last night."

He waits for her to say something else.

She doesn't.

"So, is that all?"

"What more do you want me to say?"

"I dunno. It just seems like I put a lot more effort into the conversation."

Quinn smirks. "Are you going to keep a scorecard for everything I do? Is this what dating you is going to be like?"

Whoa. She just said dating. "You want to date me?"

"Not if you're going to be a dummy!" She whacks his arm. "Of course I want to date you." Quickly, she turns considerably more coy. "I guess I should have mentioned it, but I love you, too."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"I've only been waiting to hear that for ten years. I'd like to know why." He can't believe he's pushing her when he's finally got what he wants.

"Ten years?"

"More or less."

"From anyone else that would sound a little creepy."

Sam likes the first part of that sentence. "But not from me, right?"

"No, not from you." She leans against him on the bench, lets her head rest against his shoulder. "I know you. You're sweet, you're caring. It's totally believable to me that you'd feel that way for so long and never push me or pressure me." She finds his hand with hers. "God knows you've put up with me for long enough."

"You're not that bad." He rubs her knuckles with his thumb. "Like I said, I kinda love you." It feels funny to say it so casually. Sam can't even imagine what his life is going to look like now that his feelings are out in the open and, damn right, reciprocated.

They're quiet for a minute. Somebody jogs past and another person walks leisurely by, accompanied by a large dog on a leash. The dog dawdles a little and sniffs their knees before hurrying to catch up with its owner.

Sam hears her laugh, a small giggle. "What?"

"I just thought of something."

"Tell me?"

"It'll sound weird."

"Weirder than me admitting that I've practically been stalking you for over a decade?"

"You've got me there." She pushes away and sits up straight on the bench. "It's something I just remembered. We were little, like seven or eight. We said we'd get married."

"Whoa, lady. You just dialed it up to eleven."

"I know. Add a teen wedding to everything we've said today and we've got the makings of a reality show."

They both laugh at that, but then descend into quiet again. There's a lot to think about, and that's not even including their youthful plans for matrimony. There's an unspoken agreement to table that motion for the time being.

"Can I say something weird?" Sam asks her.

"Add it to the pile."

"I know it sounds corny, but I'm really looking forward to being able to just hold your hand." It's a simple thing, but it's important to him. In all his fantasies, he's holding her hand.

"We hold hands all the time."

"Yeah, but only when you're pulling me somewhere, or I'm following you or whatever." He stands and offers his hand, palm up and fingers out. "I just think I'd like holding hands with you. It'll be real then."

She takes his hand and they walk back to the car.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

They're going through Arizona on the way home. They can't take as leisurely a pace on the return trip. Their school gave Quinn excused absences to get to her interview, but as far as Principal Figgins knows, Sam's got a nasty case of the flu and has been missing school to stay in bed. It's cool because before they left, Quinn said she'd do all his missed homework.

Sam doesn't know if he should tell the guy at the hotel that he wants one bed or two. Sure, they're officially dating now, and they've been together once, but he doesn't want to give the impression that he expects her to sleep with him on demand or whatever. They should probably take things slow. He wonders if loving her all his life counts as taking it slow. Maybe they're already past the slow point and can make up for lost time. The crisis is resolved when Quinn talks over him and says they'll need one bed.

He's sitting on their one bed, playing _Pokemon_ on his brother's 3DS, totally owning the Elite Four with his Charizard, actually, when she returns from the bathroom, ready for bed and wearing his t-shirt. She might be wearing underwear, but the shirt's huge on her and he can't tell. But he can see a whole lot of leg, and the game suddenly doesn't seem as interesting.

He's going to let her make the first move. If she wants things to escalate, wants to see if he's improved his technique from the night before, well, Sam Evans is ready to perform. But if she doesn't, then spending the night spooning the love of his life isn't a bad consolation prize. Pining for over half your life means that even the little things are wonderful.

"I know that I asked for the one bed," she says, and he's already pretty sure that they're going with the spooning option, which is fine, "but would it be ok if we didn't," she shrugs, "you know."

"Totally." He scoots over to make room. "I don't just expect it, or whatever." He's not at his most eloquent when turning down sex.

She sits next to him on the bed. It's only nine o'clock, though they got up early that morning for her interview and then drove for hours after that. And they didn't get too much sleep the night before.

"Do you want me to turn off the lights?" Last night was extremely spur of the moment, so he isn't really familiar with the protocol for sleeping with a girl. They've been sleeping in the same room all the way from Lima to California, but having sex sort of changes the dynamic a bit. A lot.

"Actually, can we talk for a minute?" She's chewing on her bottom lip.

Suddenly, he's really, really worried that she's having second thoughts. And it is crazy, their love story, so it probably wouldn't be weird for her to rethink things. When a girl says she wants to talk, he figures it's usually to crush your dreams. But he tries not to let that show on his face. He's lived a life of not pressuring her to do anything she doesn't want to do, and he's not going to veer off course now.

"Sure," he smiles, trying to keep it light. "Whatcha wanna talk about?"

"It's going to sound selfish."

"That's ok. You're allowed to be selfish if you want to." He's been selfish before. He sort of didn't ask his brother to borrow the 3DS before hitting the road. Oh, and he hadn't exactly been sad when Finn dumped his best friend in the world and left her crying. That was probably a bigger deal than the video game.

She doesn't immediately speak. Quinn lowers herself to lie down on her side.

Sam joins her, parallel, their faces just a few inches apart. "Just tell me."

Quinn exhales lightly. "If I'm accepted at USC," she says, finally looking directly into his eyes. "I don't want to go by myself."

"Oh." That's an interesting development. He's been so excited by the extremely quick and drastic change in their relationship, he's let himself momentarily forget that the chances are good that she'll be moving across the country, two thousand miles away from her new boyfriend.

"And it's selfish." Her words are coming out more quickly. She takes his hand in both of hers. "I know you've got your own plans, your own life, and I shouldn't just expect you to drop everything and follow me wherever I go."

"Quinn, I -"

"But as awful as it sounds, I really want you to." She doesn't give him the opportunity to interrupt. "I know that you're supposed to meet new people in college and start a new life, and I want to do that, but Sam, I've always had you, and the thought of not having you scares me. I don't think I can do this without you."

This is one of those moments, one of those rare, brief moments when she lets her guard down and reveals herself. Sam knows that no one else has ever seen her like this. "Q, you are seriously the strongest person I've ever met. You can do whatever you have to."

She smiles at him. "Maybe I can, but I don't want to."

He leans in to kiss her, because he wants to and because it seems like the right moment. He's gone so long wanting to kiss her and not being able, it seems stupid to pass up opportunities now.

They finish the kiss; it's fascinating to him that they both know when it's finished. Sam rolls over to lie on his back, eyes on the ceiling. "I've never really thought about myself in LA before."

"I've thought about you there a lot."

"A lot?" They've only been together for a day. A week ago she was dating Finn Hudson and planning a cross country trip with him, complete with condoms. Ugh, that thought still makes him gag.

"I have a confession to make."

He turns his head to look at her directly.

"The moment I learned I had a decent chance of being accepted, months ago, I pictured you there with me. Whenever I think of anything, of my future, of everything, you're usually there with me. It's always been like that."

This is kind of blowing his mind. "But you were with Finn for so long."

"You never said anything, Sam. I didn't know how you felt so I just assumed you weren't interested. I thought being friends was enough for you." She leans in closer to him. "We're teenagers. I was sure that if I said anything and you didn't feel the same way, it'd be too weird and we wouldn't be friends anymore."

He has to laugh at that, not because it's funny, but because it's so tragic. That was exactly the logic he'd lived his life by. It's fucking stupid, he now realizes.

"So, what am I going to do in LA? I can't just hang out in your dorm all day."

The widest smile breaks out across her face. "You mean you will come with me?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, I can't. The most beautiful girl in the world, the girl I've wanted for forever, tells me she loves me, but I've got to go to community college in Ohio. Sorry."

She punches his arm, but then kisses him, so it's ok.

"Don't distract me," she says when she pulls back.

Sam feels like that's not totally fair since she definitely kissed him, but he's not going to argue. "Ok, what do you have planned for me?"

He's still dressed, and she starts unbuttoning his shirt, fingers and thumbs going from one to the other, exposing the milky skin of his chest along the way.

"I think you should be a model."

He rolls his eyes. "Q, c'mon, be serious."

Her hazel eyes flash in the bright fluorescent lights of the cheap motel room. "I am being serious." When he tries to sit up, she stops him and says, "You may not remember it, but when we were kids, you used to say that modeling is the ultimate form of self-expression. You would get so excited about it." She pushes his shirt off his shoulders, "I don't believe that something you were so passionate about back then means nothing to you now."

"Well, I was also passionate about Power Rangers back then, so . . ."

She's not going to be put off with jokes. "Tell me there's another career you're interested in and I won't say another word about modeling, which, incidentally, you could do in LA, the home of a hundred modeling agencies."

Yeah, it's far fetched, but now that she's mentioned it, he kinda remembers looking at those magazines as a kid, being in awe of the guys who got to use their bodies as art. It's a heady thought. Sam shimmies out of his jeans and pulls the sheets up to their waists. He does put a lot of effort into his looks, and has to admit that he looks pretty good, lying here in his underwear, particularly next to Quinn.

"But do you honestly think that Sam from Ohio can be a model in Los Angeles?" He figures there are probably a million halfway good looking guys trying to make it out in LA.

She rolls her eyes at him. "Sam from Ohio is gorgeous. I am not even exaggerating when I say that you are professionally beautiful." She puts her finger to his lips to keep him from interrupting. "And when you're not being dumb, you have confidence, and there's nothing hotter than confidence." She brushes his bangs out of his eyes. "People will pay you to look the way you do."

Wow. Sure, he knew he was decent looking; he works too hard at it to be ignorant of the fact. But when the woman you adore says it like that? "And maybe I could be on the side of a bus in my underwear?"

"With your junk as big as a car," she says with a grin.

"You've seen my junk, it's almost there already."

"No comment." Quinn turns and pushes her back into his front, pulls his arm around her waist and settles comfortably with her hand over his on her middle. It's late now and they have to get up early. "You don't have to commit to anything right now. When we get home, we can have a photographer take some pictures, and you can send them in to agencies. And when every one of them says they want you, you can still turn them down if you don't want to do it."

Sam's not completely sold on it, but he is sold on her; she's passionate about him doing something she thinks he'll enjoy. He kisses behind her ear. "I love you, Quinn, and not just because you said I'm hot."

She squeezes his hand. "I love you, and not just because you are hot."

XxXxX

He's been mowing the Fabrays' lawn for years now; Russell Fabray pays him way over the going rate, which he explains by saying that, unlike with Noah Puckerman, the proprietor of Lima's primer lawn and pool care business, Russell trusts Sam around his beautiful daughter. Quinn's dad has reappraised the situation in the last several weeks, but Sam's still got the mowing gig. Now he uses the money to take Quinn on dates.

He's let his hair grow a little longer. It touches the base of his neck, just long enough to make his straight-laced father roll his eyes. Quinn says it looks edgy, like, male model edgy. Sometimes Sam let's his sister put it in a little ponytail. Sam thinks he looks pretty good, sweaty in the sun, shirtless, his hair swaying in the light breeze. He's got grass clippings stuck to him, but Quinn's said before that it just adds to his allure. Maybe he should have done his headshots after finishing with the yard. Two weeks ago they sent in pictures to modeling agencies.

So, now they're both awaiting decisions on their futures. But no matter what any modeling agency says, Sam knows what his future holds, who it holds. And knowing that, he's sort of chill about the whole thing. He'll find something to do, and as long as he's with Quinn, it really doesn't matter what. But it would be awesome to get paid to flash his abs.

"Hey." Quinn comes out of her house with a bottled water for him. Sam leans in to kiss her, because that never gets old. "You're sweaty," she giggles, dodging him.

"My lips aren't." He goes for it again and gets her cheek.

"Come inside. You can use my shower."

"Yeah, I bet your parents will just love that."

Seriously, all his life he's been over at her house, or Quinn at his, and no one had any scruple or problem with it. Really, like, no teenage boy could have even dreamed of the access he'd had as Quinn's best friend. Maybe their parents had taken his natural chivalry to mean he was a sexless eunuch, or maybe it was because he and Quinn had been attached since they were babies. Hell, more than once a sixteen or seventeen years old Sam Evans had spent the night on the couch in her bedroom, and her parents had never thought anything of it. But the moment they announce they're dating, suddenly they can't even watch a movie without her mom coming in and saying, "Let's just leave this door open, ok?"

"They're not home," Quinn says with a grin that Sam can't possibly miss. She brushes a blade of grass from his bare chest and her hand lingers.

Before he can act on _that,_ they both see the mailman drive up in the little mail truck that Puck just narrowly avoided juvie over stealing last year.

They look at each other. "It could be any day now, right?" Sam asks. "It could be today."

She nods and looks nervous. Sam jogs over to mailbox and smiles when he gets back to her at the garage, junk mail and one particularly fat envelope with a California return address in his hand.

Quinn bites her lip. "I'm suddenly worried."

He's not. There's not a doubt in Sam's mind that they've accepted her. And there's not a doubt in his mind that he'll follow her to California, and if he gets to be a model, great, but if he has to work at McDonald's then he will. And there's not a doubt in his mind that waiting on the sidelines for all those years was worth it.

Sam stops her from opening the envelope. "I just want to say, before you read it, that you're amazing and I love you." He knows she knows, but he feels like it should be said. He wants to make sure she always knows. "Sorry, had to put that out there." He lets go of her hand. "Ok, open it."

They've come a long way together. He's not following behind her anymore, hoping she'll look back and notice. These days, Sam's walking beside her, her hand in his, and he's excited about what they're going to do and where they're going to go together. The road to California is just the start.

The End

 **Reviews are much appreciated!**


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